


Lucky Penny

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 07:47:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easier to find a penny on the street than a missing suspect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Penny

"Looka this place!" David Starsky exclaimed, climbing out of his Torino. He tipped his sunglasses down the long slope of his nose to get a better look, but in sunlight, or from behind polarized lenses, the place was appalling. "How does anybody find their way home?"

"Good directional sense?" Hutch guessed, standing in awe of the relatively new Bay View Estates, a condominium development constructed on a reclaimed salt marsh. Thirty units on six streets named for Aquatic birds. Each house was a cookie cutter copy the one preceding it, all painted a bilious green with darker green shutters. Each condo had a frail, thirsty looking bottlebrush sapling on the edge of the two foot square lawn. There were identical brass knockers on every green door, and the single distinguishing feature to any house was the brass numeral to the left of the door. Six inches to the left, to be precise, with a small brass framed slot below for the mail. Hutch got the feeling that should any homeowner be so rebellious as to plant a rose or petunia by the miniature doorstep he or she might be brought up on charges of nonconformity. He glanced around, hoping to spy some garden gnome or tingly wind chimes to instill a modicum of charm into the monotonous place, but alas, there were none to be found. Even the scattering of cars parked at the curbs were similar, mostly small Japanese models, and four of the six he could see on Seagull Lane and the adjacent Pelican Cove were white. "What's the address again?"

"99 Pelican Cove, unless I wrote 66 upside down," Starsky twisted the paper around with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Only if you read it wrong, dummy. That must be the place." Hutch pointed down the street to one of the houses without a white Honda in front. There was nothing whatsoever unusual or different about the place. Exactly the same as the houses on either side, and silent as a tomb.

"Gives me deja-vu all over again," Starsky muttered crossing the road and glancing down the almost indistinguishable Egret Avenue. "And for the 64 thousand dollar question, why do the numbers on this short little street start at 91? There are only five houses."

"Ah, I think I've figured that one out," Hutch said smugly. "Well, sort of, anyway. You remember the first street we drove in on?"

"Mallard Way?"

"The house numbers started with forty, then Drake Road had the fifties, Heron Court had the sixties, Egret had the seventies, Seagull the eighties and..."

"Pelican the nineties," Starsky finished, kicking at the curb. "It still makes no sense."

"Well, we've both got a picture of the murdered woman's ex-husband, right? You canvas Pelican, and I'll go over to Seagull, and try those places. One of these neighbors must have seen the guy coming and going at some point." Hutch shaded his eyes, checking out number 99 again. 

He and Starsky had been called in late on a homicide after the lead detective had a heart attack. Since they hadn't been there at the beginning of the investigation they were desperately trying to get up to speed, and canvassing the suspect's neighbors seemed to be a good starting place. Ed Dawson hadn't been home since the murder, and Dobey was just waiting on a judge to issue a warrant so they could search the interior of number 99.

"Hey!" Starsky called out in a much more cheerful voice. "I found a penny." He plucked it out of the grass, chanting the schoolyard song as he did so. "Find a penny, pick it up, all the day you'll have good luck. Hutch, maybe this is like a charm, or something."

"It's a penny, one cent, Starsk. Not even worth the copper it's smelted from."

"Still nice to have jangling in your pocket."

"Nothing jangles in your pockets, they're too tight," Hutch retorted, moving off to knock on the door of 81 Seagull.

Alas, a shiny penny in Starsky's pocket didn't bring Hutch any sort of good fortune. No one on Seagull even recognized Dawson's name.

Starsky had somewhat better luck, however only two of the inhabitants of Pelican knew Dawson. The first was Annabelle Pinkley, who lived across the street in number 93. About four foot nine, wearing what Starsky had always termed 'grandmother shoes'; stout black footwear with a delicate pattern of pin sized holes over the toe, she resembled an apple doll at the county fair. She informed him that she had been born in 1900, and had the eyes of a 65 year old. That didn't really give him much comfort, since her coke bottle lensed glasses looked at least that old.

She was able to confirm a description of Dawson's car--a blue Chevy Impala, which Starsky had already gotten from the DMV. In view of the surrounding vehicles, it was a radical departure from the norm. Annabelle herself owned a beige Toyota Camry.

"Oh, and Mr. Dawson has a lady friend," Annabelle added just as Starsky was about to step over her postage stamp lawn.

"What does she look like?" he asked with more interest. Finally some new information.

"Dark hair, dark sunglasses, drives a red Gran Torino--kinda like that hot ride down the street, without a stripe."

Starsky's estimation of Annabelle was rising, he gave her a full bore grin. "Mrs. Pinkley--"

"Call me Annabelle. Cary Grant always did."

"You knew Cary Grant?"

"Used to sit on his lap at the Brown Derby, Humphry Bogart's, too, " she simpered, patting at her bluish coiffure.

"Knew you were my kinda woman, Schweetheart," Starsky slurred his best Bogey, kissing her wrinkled hand.

"You sound just like him."

"I never thought so," Hutch countered, coming up the sidewalk.

"Annabelle says ol' Ed has a girlfriend."

"Do you know her name?" Hutch asked.

"Penny."

Starsky laughed at that odd coincidence. "A penny saved is a penny earned."

"That was always my motto," Annabelle agreed.

"Does Penny have a last name?" Hutch persisted.

"Don't know that, but I do know where she works." Annabelle nodded with conviction.

"Yes?" Starsky prompted.

"She was wearing a pink and purple uniform last weekend--like they do at Pretty Petals, that restaurant chain? My grandson always takes me there. They have strawberry daiquiri, my favorite. They're pink."

"So Penny works at Pretty Petals, and you've seen her coming and going with Dawson?"

"Three times--in the last two months, maybe." She opened the door a little wider. "Would you boys like to come in? I usually have a sherry in the afternoon about this time."

"On duty, Annabelle," Starsky declined sweetly. "Anything else you can remember? Like when was the last time you saw Ed Dawson?"

"Did he kill his wife? I saw on the news that she was dead, poor thing."

"We're just looking for clues, links to the crime, right now," Hutch said carefully.

"Well, he was here on Thursday night, I know because I was watching my show..."

"And that is?"

"Magnum P. I. That Tom Selleck is such a hunk."

"He's got a cool car," Starsky agreed. "It's red."

"Did you see or hear Dawson while you were watching Magnum?" Hutch continued somewhat frostily.

"He drove up, parked out front and ran into his house--really fast," Annabelle recounted, pointing at his green abode. "It was dark, but I can see out the window when I'm looking at the TV, it was him."

"Was he alone?" Starsky asked,

"Yes, didn't see any blood on him, but he could have washed his hands." She looked positively a glow with the idea of living near a murderer. "That's when he offed her, isn't it?"

"Ma'am, we're just trying to ascertain all the facts," Hutch deferred. "Can't discuss the case."

"You partner's kind of stuffy," she said to Starsky who grinned conspiratorially.

"He gets that way when he hasn't had his bran in the morning."

"It's all about regularity." Annabelle nodded sagely, patting her belly.

"Starsky," Hutch protested. "Annabelle, anything else you can think of?"

"No, but you should talk to Marlon Johanson--he lives over there, right next door to Mr. Dawson, I've seen the two of them having words." She waved a pale hand as they started down the sidewalk, before calling out. "You sure you don't want a sherry for the road? Come back any time!"

"No, but thanks, Annabelle." Starsky waved back, grinning. "She's a hoot."

"Every street's got a busybody."

"Hutch, you swallow a lemon or something?"

"I just hate coming in late on a case and having to play 52 pick-up 'cause the other guys didn't do the leg work."

"Donny Barron had a gut like a beer barrel and a two pack a day habit, he always was a heart attack waiting to happen."

"All the more reason to maintain a healthy diet, fresh vegetables..." Hutch started, but trailed off as Starsky smacked the brass knocker against the door of 97 Pelican.

Marlon Johanson was a similar make and model to the convalescing Detective Barron, and he wasn't at all happy to answer questions about his neighbor. Clutching a cigarette and a bottle of beer, he raved. "That shithead? Had to live next to him for almost a year, been nothing but trouble from day one. I can hear him yelling at his ex-wife on the phone, these walls are like paper and the houses are only four feet apart, y'know."

"Really?" Starsky asked, braving the cigarette smoke for the sake of a solid lead. "Were you home Thursday night? Did you hear anything from Dawson's house?"

"He came in fast, roared that Chevy like it was some racecar, ran into his place. I didn't pay any attention, was watchin' Magnum P.I.."

"That's two for two, the Neilson's ought to conduct a poll around here," Hutch observed dryly.

"Guy's big, got a good right, but a voice like a sissy-boy."

"Dawson?" Hutch asked.

"Nah, that Magnum."

"So, you heard Dawson come in after eight on Thursday--since you were watching Magnum, and then...?'

"Nothing. I wasn't payin' much attention. Fell asleep during Simon and Simon, and when my wife got home, she woke me up."

"Where was your wife?"

"She's a nurse, gets off work at 11:30, got home about midnight."

"Was Dawson still there?"

"How the hell should I know, the wife was. Who pays attention to some asshole neighbor?"

"Right, who would?" Starsky echoed with an inward groan. "Have you ever seen Dawson with a woman?"

"His wife? She don't live there but I'll give ya dollars to donuts he murdered her."

"Anyone else?" Hutch sounded so strained Starsky was surprised steam wasn't rising out of his ears. He needed a nice lunch somewhere quiet.

"Oh, that sexy number with the black hair. She's a looker, all right. Long legs, short skirt, gold-digger if I ever saw one. Like she'd toss that waitress job right in the can the second she marries the asshole."

"Does he have money?" Starsky asked.

"Told me once he didn't have to work 'cause his old man was worth a mint. Bet he didn't want to pay the ol' lady alimony."

"Could you be more precise?" Hutch put in.

"Nah, y'know, you guys are wasting my time, got stuff to do. Bonanza's on at one." He slammed the door in their faces so abruptly Starsky had to jump back to avoid losing a toe.

"Get the feeling everybody in this complex is just a bit off?" Starsky commented, struggling to pry the car keys out of his tight jeans pocket. He noticed Hutch watching, and grinned.

"I think we'd better get out of here before we catch whatever they have." Hutch rolled his eyes, getting into the red and white car.

"I'm hungry, how 'bout we try the Pretty Petal?"

"Lunch break and talk to a possible witness, all in one?" Hutch considered it with a nod. He took up the microphone hanging from the police band radio, calling in to dispatch for the locations of all Pretty Petal Restaurants in Bay City. There were two, one less than a mile away, and another in the mall on the other side of the city.

"Pretty Petal on Lancaster, coming up." Starsky swung the big car in a U-turn, heading back past Mallard to take a left onto Bay View. Another left put them on Lancaster, and only a few blocks later they were parked in front of a violently pink and purple building with large neon flowers spelling out the name 'Pretty Petal' on the roof.

"Ever wonder who was bribed on the city zoning committee to allow this monstrosity inside the city limits?" Hutch said aloud.

"Hey." Starsky pointed to a coin directly in front of the pink and purple welcome mat. "Look, a nickel." He picked it up, finding a penny half hidden under the mat. "Got six cents."

"Good, Starsk, if this keeps up you may have a dollar by the end of the year."

"You scoff, but money is money." Starsky shook the coins in his fist, enjoying the musical jingling. "And I'm seven cents richer than I was when I woke up this morning."

"Don't report those earnings to the IRS, they'll dun your real wages, and you'll end up in the poor house." Hutch actually shuddered as he walked into the florid lobby. "I'm leaving if all the food here is pink."

"They've got good daiquiris, according to Annabelle."

"I think I'll stick with something in a natural color, like tea."

A pretty blonde in a short uniform lead them over to a booth upholstered in pink and purple print plastic, handing over two enormous laminated menus. "I'm Cindy, if you need anything."

"Iced tea and a green salad," Hutch ordered without even opening the menu. "The lettuce is green, isn't it?"

"We have some of that purple kind, if you want that," Cindy said doubtfully.

"No, just a tomato and some onions, dressing on the side."

"Thousand Island or French?"

"Just a cruet of oil and vinegar."

"Oh, yeah, sure," she agreed. "What'll you have, handsome?"

Starsky grinned at her over the top of the menu, but went back to perusing the selection. "Give me a minute--I'm in the mood for something pink--barbecued shrimp and steak--rare, with bunch of fries. And a cherry coke."

"Just exactly what I'd order," Cindy flirted overtly, batting her big blue eyes so much she looked like she was in danger of losing a contact lens.

Starsky let his fingertips touch hers as he handed back the menu. "Honey, if I were free, I'd take you up on that, but the wife expects me home at the stroke of six for dinner with the quadruplets."

"Oh, my, you poor thing!" Cindy gushed. "Four children?"

"Two years old this week," Starsky poured it on, loving the outraged expression on Hutch's face.

Cindy switched her attention to Hutch so swiftly Starsky wondered if she'd given herself whiplash. "I'll bring your drinks right away," she assured him

"You neglected to tell her that they were kittens," Hutch pointed out when Cindy bustled off. "But I could take exception to being called your wife."

"Wife, husband, partner, who needs labels these days? It's the '80's now." Starsky looked around with interest. The decor was truly hideous, with tiny flower faces gracing almost every surface. The metal holders for sugar packets were shaped like flowers, and even the restrooms had a blossom with false eyelashes for the girl's room and one wearing a baseball cap for the men's. He noticed a couple at a near by table eating perfectly ordinary hamburgers and onion rings, accompanied by frothy pink sodas. "See, not all the food is pink."

"But you managed to order nearly all of them."

"You see anyone looks like Penny?" Starsky asked, ignoring the comment. He'd gotten Hutch out of the grumpy mood, which was enough for now. Once they'd eaten, both would be ready to continue the interviews with a more positive outlook.

"Not unless she's morphed into a large bodied black woman," Hutch pointed to the waitress at the cash register. "But maybe she works the dinner shift?"

"We could come back," Starsky suggested.

"No, we can't," Hutch insisted. Cindy returned with their drinks, accidentally giving Starsky the tea and Hutch the coke. "This one is his," Hutch corrected exchanging drinks with his partner, "By the way, Cindy, does anyone named Penny work here?"

"Penny Coyne?"

"Lots of dark hair, long legs?" Hutch described.

"That's her, she comes in around five," Cindy said, her pretty face ruined by a pout. Obviously she thought Hutch was looking for the more exotic variety of Pretty Petal waitresses, and not what was on the platter right in front of him.

"You've been a big help." Starsky gave her his most guaranteed lady killer grin but she was no longer fishing in that pond.

"Your food will be ready soon," Cindy said coldly.

"Ruined your chances with her," Starsky teased.

"Always did like dark hair better," Hutch's lips curved upwards as he sipped his tea. "Good brew."

"You think maybe Dawson is hiding out at Penny's place?"

"Would be the first place I'd look."

The woman at the cash register turned out to be the manager who provided Penny's home address after Starsky and Hutch flashed their detective shields. As Starsky had expected, Hutch filched several shrimp, and a large section of the steak off his plate, along with a handful of fries. He'd ordered the large meal just for that reason.

Once their bellies were full they headed over to Penny's home on Manzanita. Starsky sandwiched the car between a VW and a decrepit Buick across the street from an elegant white apartment building, and jumped out full of vigor, sure that the case would be solved by the end of the day once they found Dawson holed up at his girlfriend's. Sure enough, a red Torino, same model and make as his own, was parked a few spaces up from them. Penny's car, just as Annabelle had described. He didn't spot a blue Chevy Impala, unfortunately.

"I could see why Dawson would want to come here." Hutch appraised the twenties era architecture with elegant touches of curly-cue plaster work around the windows and door. Mullioned windows and gold awnings added to the charm.

"Would you look at that!" Starsky bent down to pick up a coin from the roadway just as the retort of a pistol sounded. A bullet whizzed so close above his head it singed the ends of his curls.

"Starsky!" Hutch shouted, his big Python magically in his hand. "Second floor window, probably Penny's apartment." He inched around the side of the Torino cautiously. "You hurt?"

"Nah, just gave me a trim on the top," Starsky rubbed his head; there was no graze from the bullet, but his hair was hot to the touch in one place. "Found another penny."

"That one was lucky for sure," Hutch agreed. A second shot kicked up gravel on the street but again missed Starsky who was pined down in front of the car.

"Cover me when this mailtruck drives past," Starsky pointed to a familiar red, white and blue truck at a stop sign half a block away. Being shot at while he cowered against the red metal side of his favorite automobile was far too similar to the events that occurred a year and a half ago, but luckily it made him mad, not scared. "I'll dive into the car and call for backup."

"Wait for it," Hutch cautioned as the little vehicle trundled past, the driver gaping at him, wide eyed. Waving him on, Hutch pulled off a shot right through another pane of glass in what was hopefully Penny's window, giving Starsky time to slither onto the car seat. After that Hutch backed around the car, keeping his eye on the apartment building. No one had emerged in the short time they'd been there.

"This is not good," Starsky said astutely, appraising the situation now from the relative safety of his auto. He radioed for help, but it would take a few minutes. Until more units arrived, he and Hutch couldn't drive away nor could they approach the building. Trapped under fire, on a sunny, pretty street in full view of other houses. He saw a woman peeking out of a first floor window from the Art Deco styled building to his left.

"I called the police!" she announced assertively.

"Good, the more the merrier." Hutch climbed into the car, touching Starsky's face briefly. "You sure you weren't hit?"

"Honest In'jun, no blood, Kemosabe." Starsky promised, wishing he could give that worried expression the comfort it deserved, but first things first. Another shot zinged from the second story and this time Starsky saw the flash of a pistol and a glimpse of an angry face. "That's Dawson, looks like the photo they found at Mary Laura's house."

"Bet the bullets will match the slug that killed her, too."

"Think the girlfriend is in on it?" Starsky chattered, more to fill time than anything else.

"Couldn't wager a guess right now, Starsk." Hutch's eyes narrowed as he watched the upper window. "Feel like a little fire escape climbing once the cavalry arrive?"

"Anything that will get us out of this big target."

"I always told you driving a red and white bullseye was a bad idea."

Starsky sucked in a deep breath, listening to approaching sirens. "When the first patrol car comes through, I'm across the street. You want to cover me?"

"I'd rather follow," Hutch said darkly.

Nodding mutely at him, Starsky touched his face in just the same way Hutch had touched his. They both knew who was the faster runner, and who had more cannon power in his hand. Once the street was full of police, Hutch would follow his partner as surely as the moon followed the sun.

"Go," Hutch urged.

Bursting out of the car Starsky dashed across the roadway in the wake of the passing black and white. Two shots dusted his heels, but he heard the bark of Hutch's gun return fire and then he was jumping up to grab the lowest rung of the fire escape. Luckily, it was the sort that dropped down when pulled on, and wasn't rusted shut as so many old ones were. Starsky scrambled up without conscious thought, taking the steps two at a time. His footsteps clanged loudly on the metal so there was no way to prevent Dawson hearing his approach. Once on the second floor Starsky peered through the window. Dawson swung around at just that moment, glaring angrily at him from the living room. Starsky flattened himself just as another bullet tried to part his hair. Glass tinkled merrily around him like lethal snowflakes.

"This is getting old," he grumbled aloud. "I just had a haircut--didn't need another til next month!" He levered himself up on one elbow to take a quick look, yelling, "Dawson, the place is surrounded. Give yourself up before things just get ugly."

"Already got ugly, cop!" Dawson shouted. "I'll do Penny like I did Mary Laura!"

"Eddy!" a female voice squeaked, full of fear. "You said...we had plans!"

Starsky poked his head over the sill again, worried about the woman's welfare. Even if she was some gold-digger out for ol' Ed's money, she didn't deserve to be blown to death. Dawson had a gorgeous brunette by the arm, jerking her towards a back hall so quickly her short skirts flipped up to reveal yellow panties.

"You go for double homicide, Dawson an' there won't even be any plea bargaining goin' on. Give up while you still got a chance!" Where the hell was Hutch? Starsky had expected him long before this, and was beginning to wonder if the penny he'd found was all that lucky after all. How did he continually manage to be the one getting shot at?

"Eddy, please, listen to the cop..." Penny babbled, but Dawson had cinched her up against him, holding the gun to her neck. She was twisting and pulling away from him forcing him to have to readjust his hold on her.

"Good girl, Penny," Starsky muttered. If she just moved more to the left he'd have enough room to shoot Dawson without hurting her. Propping his Baretta against the glass he let all extraneous distractions fade away, zeroing in on the tiny area he planned to hit.

When the door behind Dawson slammed against the wall, Starsky was as startled as his opponent was. Half a dozen police swarmed in, separating the couple from their grotesque waltz, and spread-eagling Dawson on the floor. Hutch personally grabbed the man's arms, pulling them back and fastening on the handcuffs.

Willing his heartrate to return to a more sedate rate, Starsky motioned for his partner to open the window and let him in. As the blues were marching their prisoner out the door, Hutch slid up the sash.

"You coulda warned me about the change in plans," Starsky grumbled, trying to avoid the broken shards of glass littering every surface.

"Gotta be flexible, Starsk," Hutch said lightly, but there was seriousness in his eyes proving that he knew Starsky wasn't angry in the least, just letting off steam after the fact. It had been a tight situation, where anyone of them could have been killed "When the opportunity came up to use the front door, I took it. Seemed like the sensible thing to do."

"The sensible thing?" Starsky holstered his weapon, eyeing Hutch. "The landlady let you in?"

"And they said you were just a pretty face," Hutch patted his cheek, one thumb tracing his lower lip for barely a second before he was all business again. "Miss Coyne?"

He turned away, focusing on the dark haired woman standing in a circle of officers. She was recounting her horrible experience to the fawning group, wiping crocodile tears away with a trembling hand. All four cops seemed quite interested in guarding the witness on the way back to the station, which was perfectly all right with Hutch. That way he got time with Starsky before the endless afternoon and evening spent interrogating the chief suspect and his mistress.

Although Penny Coyne repeatedly maintained her innocence of Dawson's actions, items found in her home proved otherwise. She'd opened a new bank account the same day as Mary Laura Dawson was killed, had purchased plane tickets for two to the Bahamas, and apparently bought out the lingerie and swimwear department at Neiman Marcus. Because of these damning purchases, she was booked as an accessory to murder, with murder one charges pending on Dawson once ballistics matched the bullet taken from his wife to the ones littering Manzanita Street. The D.A. was happier than Hutch had ever seen him, and at ten o'clock at night, too, far past the man's usual work hours.

"Looks like we got there just in time," Hutch commented as he tossed the last of the booking paperwork on the top of the finished pile. "Those tickets were for a plane leaving tonight, right about now."

"Too bad they're not transferable, huh?" Starsky shrugged into his leather bombardier jacket. "I could go for a coupla days soaking up the sun, lyin' in the sand with a good looking blond."

"Starsky, how often do we solve a case all in one morning?" Hutch followed him out to the elevator, admiring the way Starsky's butt cheeks moved back and forth as he strode down the corridor. "I'm feeling pretty upbeat right now. What say we swing by the Pits?"

"You're on, Perky, but you know you owe me a game of pool--rematch for that strip pool game you conned me into last week." Starsky held open the elevator door with a come-hither look.

"If I recall it didn't take much to persuade you. Didn't exactly have to twist your arm. But we can only play strip when the place is shut down and Huggy's out of town."

"See, more chance for me to win on merit and skill alone," Starsky challenged. "Bet I can take you with only three shots."

"You're cocky." Hutch raised a single blond eyebrow in mock disdain.

Starsky sighed melodramatically at the sight of the Torino parked in the police garage with two bullet holes in the driver's side door. "Nobody appreciates a fine piece of craftsmanship. Merle's probably gonna have to get a whole new door--you know what that's gonna cost, even at the salvage yard?"

"Penny Coyne's car may be up for sale soon. And besides, you're getting rich finding money on the ground," Hutch took a step and noticed something shining in the overhead flood lights. "In fact, there's another, a dime by the look of it." He bent forward, reaching out to pluck the coin off the macadam when a breath taking pain lanced through his lower back, twisting his muscles into one giant spasm. "Fu-ck." Hutch gasped, hand automatically going to his suddenly agonizing back.

"Just a bottle top?" Starsky asked sympathetically, "Didn't get lucky?" He came around the car to see what Hutch had found.

"No, and you won't be getting lucky, either, at this rate." Hutch leaned against the Torino, panting around the pain. There'd be no game of pool in the future. Instead, a hot pad and muscle relaxants were on the agenda tonight.

"Hey, your back go out again?" Starsky put a supportive arm around him.

"What does it look like, Sherlock? Help me into the car, I can't even stand up right now."

"Gotta make your own luck, Hutch." Starsky levered him into the seat with infinite care. He scooped up the dime before getting in himself. "Me, I think a whole night of helpin' you soak in a warm tub, then rubbing that smelly stuff on your back while you bliss out on tea and those pink pills that make you all limp and cuddly is a special kind of luck. Sorry you're in pain, but any time I can take care a'you makes me the luckiest guy on the planet."

"And even without a dime, you make me the richest."

FIN


End file.
